Hermione was entirely caught up on her assignments, and to a degree she could say she was enjoying school more than she ever had in her life.

In summer classes she made a few friends rather easily, and since no one knew her she decided to ask the teachers to call out her name as 'Jean'. She appreciated the uniqueness of her first name, but it was impractical to expect people to be able to spell it, or pronounce it if they saw it written. She had been embarrassed by a teacher failing to read it properly enough times (three) for her to give up on the minor point of pride. Jean was a nice name and it was given to her, just the same as Hermione was.

The coursework was easy enough, though she had been preoccupied with everything else she had learned, she had been ahead in normal school, and was very quickly ahead of the curve in summer courses, which her parents likely did not believe she needed. They entertained her notion of being behind, and she elected not to hold it against them when she found out how quickly she got to be ahead again. At supper one evening, she had brought up being promoted into the next level, at which point her mother's eyes were smiling and her father reportedly laughed audibly. It was a gradual process of realizing that most of her life she had overestimated the difficulty of schooling, and simultaneously become something of a perfectionist, making her significantly more stressed than she needed to be.

"Hi, Jean." a boy named James said amicably as she walked to school, meeting him half-way as always. It was close enough to her house and her fear of strangers was less of a factor than it had been previously. He had longer blond hair and rather piercing blue eyes, and not only was he bright, he was a hard worker as well, which was generally the case. Hermione had met more than a few students in her day who seemed to think they were 'smart, but lazy', though she rarely agreed.

"Hi, James. Are you going back to Eton after you're done here?" 'Jean' asked.

"I've been thinking about it. It's pretty likely." His language reminded her most children had little choice where they went to school.

"I'd go with you if I could-"

"There are plenty of girls' schools, and they're all just as good." James reminded her. Most boys her age essentially did not believe in gender bias, which was fine, since it was worse in the magical world anyway. She found that she got along with boys a bit better than girls, though in summer courses she had run into a few girls who had more in common with her. Hermione imagined that if she went to a girls' school, there would be enough of them there that she would meet someone she liked. At the same time, the probability of drama was also worse, though she did her best to stay above that.

Seeing the kindly old man from down the street on the way to school was the only peculiarity of the morning.

Her first class was History, and she remembered with a momentary half-smile that it had taken her a few weeks to stop calling it 'normal history' in her mind. The topic of discussion was the decline of the Empire, which she found more controversial than she had expected, probably due to the current possession of Hong Kong, though there had been talk for years of it being given to China. One of her classmates, a boy named Creevy who was likely in the program due for 'remedial' purposes, insisted that it would be the final nail in the coffin of the Empire if Hong Kong were simply given to a foreign country. The first nail had been the American Rebellion, which essentially proved to the world the crown was too weak to hold onto colonies. 'Jean' respectfully disagreed with the viewpoint, but refrained from entertaining the boy in lengthy discussions.

"Jean, what are your thoughts on the reading?" Well, I suppose. The instructor seemed to have a habit of calling on her whenever someone else was 'wrong'.

"I think what the text is trying to say is that in more modern times, under Elizabeth II, we have a system that relies on voluntary cooperation rather than military force or economic pressure." Really, if you look at India's case, the fact that all they had to do was say 'no' proves- "It seems the point here is that a truly beneficent crown would need nothing other than the interests of the colonies to retain trade relations." Well, they had to do somewhat more than say 'no' and they had to say it for years on end, but really no military action was required to oust the Company, as it really could only function off voluntary cooperation.

She went outside on lunch break, following James, who for some reason suggested going to the park. Taking a road where she could be seen, it occurred to her that she had not been in any public arbor since the first day of summer holiday, when she met the wizard with one of their newspapers. This is not the same one, though. She was, of course, bringing a lunch, though it appeared her friend did not have an appetite for much apart from conversation, which she found engaging. It was a refreshing change from the usual level of detail and pace of the discussions in class, and she found the boy knew more than she had previously thought about genetics, a subject she had studied only as it was becoming relevant in school. The center of the park greeted them with a fountain and scrap metal sculptures, though James's favorite area was a tunnel under a pedestrian bridge, with just a bit of overgrowing vines.

"I like to come out here sometimes. It's light all over, and it's nice to see some place without the glaring streetlamps in my eyes- even during the day- it's simply distasteful."

"I suppose. I don't really mind well-lit areas." 'Jean' muttered, looking around. "It makes me feel a bit safer." I suppose it causes light pollution and is a waste of energy during the day.

"That's what I thought you'd say, Mudblood. Petrificus Totalus." Hermione's form went stiff the moment every danger sign in her body went off at the same time, leaving her feeling like she was about to explode, but was stalled somehow. "Mobilicorpus" Her arms and legs were moving again, but she was not in control of them. This is something that requires a good degree of skill. He's actually manipulating my limbs to make me walk.

"Nott." She tried to turn at the sound, but found herself entirely unable. I've really started to hate this curse. "We're leaving."

"I know." The voice from James's mouth was almost entirely alien. Hermione's sense of panic seemed to be as frozen as her jaw, though her face was white as a sheet. "Now give me the invisibility potion, you disabled sloth." Nott muttered, taking something from the new arrival and forcing her mouth open, admitting a vile solution, the effects of which were of course invisible to her. What she could see was the transformation of James into an old man with a long beard, though it was a wonder no one noticed.

"I didn't know you needed it." the disabled sloth explained.

"Were you going to walk out of the park with the mudblood?" the impostor asked. "You think she hasn't got a thousand and one methods of signalling to her little friends that two strange old men are kidnapping her?" the old man asked, audible contempt in his voice. "If I hadn't cast half a hundred Muggle repelling-" Both of them were silent as they passed by a stranger. Hermione found herself caught between wanting the random man to bump into her and wanting no one else to get involved. I was stupid to think I could get away- I can't even be sure what they want with me.

"Gibbons are hardly sloths." the other man protested, walking silently somehow. "You're calling me incompetent and you don't even know how to drive." he muttered as they approached a Rolls Royce at the edge of the park. He was visibly younger, though it seemed it was hard not to be, given Nott's long beard and stooping posture.

"Drive? You think I should learn to drive?!" It was almost a scream, though both of them were doing the best they could to keep a low profile in the most expensive car on the road, parked with flagrant disregard for convention. They scanned the area before forcing her into the back, the older wizard's railing muffled upon the slam of the door. Hermione's warning signs flared up again as they entered and turned the key, though the two of them had fallen into silence, both visibly angry with each other.

I must focus, I musn't be stupid- I must-

"I can't believe we're taking this much care over a mudblood. In my day we'd have ripped the information from her mind on the spot." Nott muttered at length.

"She's not really a mudblood, those don't exist. She's a war orphan." How do they know who I am? Why do they think I'm a war orphan? There were other questions fighting for dominance in her mind, but to answer them she would have to escape the certainty of her stunned disbelief, the logical universe that allowed her to reject the possibility of being kidnapped at random.

The old wizard seemed to disregard the explanation.

"Properly we should be pitying her." the driver decided. "Grew up without knowing a thing of her heritage- can only imagine what her parents would think."

"We can only imagine who her parents are." Nott reminded, again insisting Hermione had magical parents. She had read about the prejudice about wizards and witches from normal families, but she had imagined something significantly milder.

"Sorry if this is the first you've heard of it." the younger man said, taking his eyes off the road a moment. "My name's Gibbon- I grew up like you, only longer ago. My parents were killed and I ended up in an orphanage for a while, then a madhouse when I told them my parents were magical. Had to grow up as one of them. I got my letter, of course, but every summer they sent me back- I learned to leave my stuff at school. I worked odd jobs to feed myself until I was out of school- '75, might have been. The war was a nightmare." They took a hard turn and she guessed this 'Gibbon' character hardly practiced, if that was even his real name. "It's a real shame it has to start all over again."

"No, the war is necessary. Some of us are merely apprehensive in the face of uncertainty, where before it was the pale-faced hopelessness of extinction." Nott muttered. "Necessary to the war effort is its commander, and he has requested the interrogation of any who may know of the Philosopher's Stone." What? Voldemort has the Stone! Flamel told him how to use it! What more does he want? Why can't he and everyone else just LEAVE ME ALONE?!

They arrived at a townhouse with a garage. I suppose if they can afford a Rolls-

"Gibbon, don't tell me you live here." Nott appeared to be looking over the exterior of the property.

"Don't tell me you don't see the use of a house just outside London. It's cheaper than you'd think, with the exchange rate- and we can't just go killing them for their homes, not yet anyway." Hermione had a distant memory of the currency exchange when buying the required books and other materials. Her parents had never been without money, but that was partially due to responsible spending. It was a painful thing seeing them grimace as they went back to the exchange counter for more.

The younger wizard closed the garage door before the older one took her out of the car. No one was going to see me anyway-

In moments she was in a sitting room with wards reacting to her presence. This is a safehouse. I have to assume no one will find me.

"Hermione Granger, Number 30 14th, currently enrolled at Primrose Summer Session, legal dependent of Dr. and Dr. Granger, born 19 September 1979 in Paddington Hospital, London, we have a few questions for you." Gibbon started as Nott nullified the full-body-bind. "What is the rate of decay of the Philosopher's Stone?"

"How did you find me? Why do you think I know?" she asked defensively. At least I know they're dark wizards.

"You do not need to know." Nott said as he raised his wand. I didn't need to know your friend's life story. "You will tell us or you will face swift, violent consequences."

"Nott, she's a war orphan. We have no reason to harm her." Gibbon argued in a bizarrely empathetic voice. "We have spoken to several students who told us you basically read the whole library, including works on alchemy and Flamel's work." That's an exaggeration. "Your first name and a basic description was enough to find you."

"You're the only 'Hermione' in the phone book and London was the first place he looked." Nott explained quickly. "Now tell us about the Stone."

"It doesn't decay." she said hastily, her mind whirring. They'll kill me the moment I'm done answering questions- even if they know how to erase memories, they'll have no reason to keep me alive.

"It doesn't decay? I suppose you think we don't know-"

"No, really- the Philosopher's Stone you have is the same one from hundreds of years ago." she explained without allowing Nott to finish his accusation that she was insulting him. "If it decays at all, we'll be gone before it is." Hermione amended.

"Very well, can it be destroyed?" That's an odd eventuality to consider. Has he not used it yet? Does he plan on using it for other things?

"It can." she answered at length, the confusion evident in her face.

"Any possibility of destroying the Stone has to be considered." Gibbon explained.

"It would be easier to just toss it into an ocean." Hermione offered, knowingly delaying. "If it ever falls into the wrong hands, it's gone."

"Are you saying it's resistant to summoning charms?" Gibbon asked before Nott could raise his wand again. He's going to hurt me- he's actually going to hurt me-

"It's not an enchanted object." she started uncertainly. She had heard of summoning charms, but was unable to perform them competently as of yet. It occurred to her she had her wand, but she could hardly escape by magic. It would be years before she was able to Apparate, and portkeys were even more difficult. "It's something that's magical- well, it has specific alchemical properties in itself, and enchantments can't be placed on it."

"So it can't be summoned." Nott pressed. I suppose alchemy is relatively unknown to most wizards. Hogwarts may have been the last resource in the world on the Stone.

"I don't believe so-"

"We need something better than that." Gibbon said while Hermione wondered what would happen if she took out her wand and cursed him. I'd sooner curse Nott, the way he pretended to be James- how long was he there?

"I'm afr- most of it was in French, written by Flamel himself." she excused, remembering that if she did curse either of them, she would be kicked out of-

Hermione nearly slapped herself.

"You've told us you can read it already." Gibbon pressed, losing patience.

"Well, not all of it was illegible- I know it was impossible to enchant and impossible to summon, but-"

"Is there any way of destroying it at all?" Nott asked.

"I'm sorry, can I use the lavatory?" she asked politely. "I'll be right back, it's just..." She winced and Gibbon nodded, probably seeing a chance to discuss things with Nott. In the upstairs toilet, she opened the window and cast three knockback jinxes before finally seeing an owl, which she placed into a full-body bind while it was in flight. She regarded the animal with a familiar curiosity as it fell before suddenly feeling awful. Caught between not wanting to arouse suspicion and not wanting to be caught in the crossfire when the magical law enforcement arrived, she tried to heave herself out the window and doubled over with pain as her foot hit the ward boundary. Lying on her back in an utterly normal washroom, she heard the knock on the door, which the dark wizards answered with spellfire.

From the sound of it, the whole affair was done in a matter of moments, the inexperienced Hit Wizard on the scene unprepared for the Death Eaters, as they were, who killed him before escaping, reinforcements only moments behind. Hermione was questioned extensively about what they wanted, where they were going, what they had said, until eventually most of them left her with the department head, who was deemed somewhat better with children.

"You're going back to Hogwarts, Granger." Madam Bones concluded, having heard her protests out. "You can argue you're a target there, but you're a target here, and one harder to shield. A man died today." Hermione made a face asking how that was her fault. "If it had not been for that body-bind Nott cast while Polyjuiced to be your friend, we would not have known to be looking in the area."

When at last she got a question of her own in, she wasted it in retrospect.

"Wait, so the Trace responds to adults pretending-"

"Granger, if you're unlucky enough to be the thousandth person to ask me how the Trace works, I'll bind you to the Hogwarts Express myself."